


Forgiveness

by etoilecourageuse



Series: Bitter Longings [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Infidelity, Pre-Canon, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6317920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/etoilecourageuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catelyn would always do her duty, would always be a good wife to him and perhaps grow fond of him, as he was a good, a gentle man, honourable and never cruel so much unlike the other lords, as truly she was blessed</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoveChilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveChilde/gifts).



> Happy Purim! I really hope that you like these - Catelyn is my ultimate favourite character in all of ASOIAF/GoT, and I've always wanted to explore more canon and pre-canon moments from her POV, so I picked three of them that have particularly large hurt/comfort potential. It was a true pleasure creating for you!

Winterfell. It had been nearly a fortnight since she had travelled North with her lord husband, leaving Riverrun behind never to turn back again mere days after his return from the war, nearly a fortnight since he had led her through the large gates of the stronghold that was to become her home. It had been nearly a fortnight since she had for the first and last time looked into the boy’s eyes. 

The boy. Nausea seemed to overwhelm her even at the thought of him, caused her to tremble with unspoken rage. The boy… He was nothing but a babe, bearing none of the blame, and yet… Yet he was everything she had come to despise over the past days. 

It was foolish, perhaps, to direct her anger towards the boy, foolish to allow herself to feel anger at all when in truth she should never have expected, never have dared to hope for Lord Eddard Stark to be different to any other, when in truth he was not only but a man, a man who had been at war, unaware whether he would live to see the morrow… 

It was foolish, perhaps, and yet… Yet for the first time within her life Catelyn found herself beyond control of her emotions, for the first time within her life she found herself to be overwhelmed, for the first time within her life she… 

The boy… She should not have banned such possibilities from her mind, should have forbidden herself her naivety, and yet… Yet she had been too focused on her own son, _their_ son, had been too focused on Robb to consider… How happy she had been, how beyond happy, how blessed she had felt to be capable of fulfilling her duty, of giving her husband an heir so soon after his departure, and how eagerly she had awaited his return, praying to the Seven night by night and day by day to ensure his safety…

The sudden agony at even the sight of the babe had seemed to drown her then, had taken her breath away and for a moment blurred her sight, her senses… What a fool she had been, what a…

But she would not make him see. Of course she would not make him see, would not allow Lord Eddard to notice her rage, her disappointment as she was in no place for accusations, in no place for reproaches and demands... How could she possibly warrant her emotions, how could she possibly explain to a man she scarcely knew what she was incapable of even explaining to herself? She was in no place… 

Shouldn’t she consider herself honoured, still? Honoured to have become the lady of Winterfell, lucky to call herself wife of Eddard Stark despite her betrothal to his brother Brandon before his fall, to have become the mother of his heir? Shouldn’t she consider herself honoured and not care about a bastard boy, dispelling her emotions and doubts merely to focus on her duty? 

Of course she would focus on her duty. Catelyn would always do her duty, would always be a good wife to him and perhaps grow fond of him, as he was a good, a gentle man, honourable and never cruel so much unlike the other lords, as truly she was blessed… She would always do her duty and yet… Yet it had been so difficult for her to look at him at first, so difficult to allow their gazes to cross and not remember the boy, so difficult to speak unless in response to a question…

How afraid she had been at first, afraid of Winterfell, afraid of the North and her husband… How afraid she had been that he might be like the other men, that the boy might only be the first bastard of many… How afraid she had been of her life as Lady Stark. 

But she had awaited him. Night by night she had awaited him in her chamber until sleep had taken her, night by night she had awaited him and yet he had never come, had never opened the heavy wooden door and slipped into bed beside her… 

She was in no place to bear grudges. She was in no place to blame him of what he had done in times of war, was in no place of refusing contact besides the bare necessities as what would it do? What would it do to bear a grudge, what would it do to cause herself to suffer even further, to never look at him, to never forgive him for what he had done? Of course she would forgive him, needed to forgive her husband and perhaps would do so gladly as he was so careful, so endeavoured to truly make Winterfell her home… 

He had never come to her chamber… Until she had looked at him. Until at last she had raised her head and looked into his eyes, until one day she had smiled at him and spoken, until truly she had forgiven him… 

Forgiveness. Who was she to grant forgiveness for what he had done, who was she to grant forgiveness for what appeared to be his right? Who was she to allow herself… And yet he had waited. He had waited for her, had granted her time when she had not asked but been in such need, he had waited… 

Never would she be a mother to the bastard, never would she deign to look at him as he would merely remind her of what she was so desperate to forget, of her shameful folly, her youthful naivety she had shed in the very moment Lord Eddard had returned to Riverrun… Never would she be a mother to the boy, and he knew, her husband knew… But it did not matter. The bastard did not matter, not any more, was no longer of significance as only her son, the trueborn heir of Winterfell, only her husband were of importance. As only Ned mattered, truly.

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
